


A Fang Club Meeting

by AnonEhouse



Category: Dark Shadows (1966), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:16:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: Vampire and werewolf meet at a bar to exchange sad relationship tales. They just can't catch a break. It's as if someone enjoys seeing them suffer.





	

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There's a bar/ pub/ alehouse/ tea pad/ opium den/ fugu sushi/ coffeeshop/ tobacconist/ chocolatier... well, you name it, the relaxant, regardless of legality, of your choice is available here.

If you need a Bloody Mary with type-o negative, or non-poisonous wolfsbane whiskey aged in wormwood, this is the place to go.

Derek glanced around briefly out of unnecessary habit; the bouncers here consumed trouble-makers. As he entered, the ogre on the left side of the door was picking his teeth with a blood-stained crucifix, while the dragon on the right was meticulously melting silver bullets into a pretty patchwork pattern on his left front leg. They nodded politely to him.

Derek showed his fangs in a flash of acknowledgment, stepped over something he didn't look at closely, and then went to the bar. A dark-haired man in a black Inverness cape was sitting next to the only free stool. "Expecting someone?" Derek asked.

The man glanced up at him. He had big, sad, dark brown eyes, a pair of widely spaced fangs, and a Napoleonic haircut that made Derek feel less foolish about the reverse ducktail he'd worn ever since he lost a bet with Laura. "I sincerely hope not," he said in a tone rather mild for a vampire. Derek thought the man had a slightly English accent, or maybe something from one of the New England states, or hell, even Canada. "That never bodes well for me."

Derek grunted and sat down. When his whiskey arrived, he lifted it in salute to his neighbor. He sensed a kindred spirit. "Women," he said.

"Witches," the vampire replied.

"Bitches," they said in unison.

The vampire smiled. He had a rather sweet smile, which Derek thought was a pity, as it had to be a hindrance in his line of the supernatural. 

"Derek Hale," Derek said impulsively after the fourth or fifth wolfsbane whiskey. The vampire was a congenial drinking companion, keeping pace and not talking Derek's ear off. "They call me the woobie werewolf. Just because... you know... I get beat up. A lot."

The vampire nodded, his head going a few extra bounces, because he was loosening up, too. "Barnabus Collins. I'm the vulnerable vampire. I don't... I'm not sure why they call me that."

"I think it's your voice," Derek said helpfully. "You don't sound at all like Bela Lugosi."

"Hmm, you may be right. You know, you don't sound at all like Lon Chaney, Jr."

Derek nodded thoughtfully. "It's a problem. I'd take up smoking to roughen my vocal cords, but they heal immediately."

Barnabus nodded. "And I don't breathe, so I can't inhale."

They sighed in unison.

"It's not as if I haven't killed people," Derek said, flashing his eyes blue as evidence.

"Me, too!" Barnabus replied. "Of course, I try to be moderate, and only take what I need. I only kill in self-defense," he said virtuously. He drank some more. "And there was that time I was poisoned. And the time I was under mind control by Leviathans."

Derek nodded. "It happens." He made a note to have Stiles look up Leviathans.

"But women," Barnabus said. "They're the worst. Angelique cursed me."

"That's rude."

Barnabus looked confused. "She was a witch, a beautiful blonde witch. Witches don't like it when you turn them down."

Derek scowled. "Kate was a witch, too. I should have turned her down."

"There were other women," Barnabus said, looking morosely at the mirror behind the bar, showing his drink floating in mid air as his invisible arm lifted it. "Disasters, all of them. The ones I loved hated me, the ones who loved me, I hated. Willie's the only one who's really stayed by me." Barnabus sniffed.

Derek thought about patting Barnabus on the shoulder. He really did. But it was too much feeling. "Women are like that. Stiles is the only one who's stayed by me, well, except for when the demon took him over, but you can't really hold that against a man, can you?"

"Demons don't count," Barnabus said, nodding vigorously. "He's not still possessed, is he?"

"No, Scott roared inside Stiles' head while he was playing Go with the Nogitsune." Derek mulled his words over. "You had to be there. Anyway, Stiles is... Stiles." Derek couldn't help smiling a little, just a little. "He's... unique." He had another drink.

Barnabus looked thoughtful. "Is he good looking?"

"Is Stiles... huh..." Derek thought it over. "Yes, I think so."

"Willie's not exactly ugly," Barnabus said. "Maybe I should stop beating him."

Derek tilted his head. "Do you think, if I stopped slamming Stiles up against walls..."

"We should try," Barnabus said. He tapped his glass against Derek's. "Here's blood in your eye."


End file.
